and no stop-over privileges.

The something which had thus inopportunely dropped on Michael was Mr.
Henckel, the second mate. He had gone up on the bridge to see if the
canvas jacket had been dropped over the brightly polished brass
engine-room telegraph apparatus at each end of the bridge, in order to
protect it from the tropical dew. While thus engaged he had heard the
shot which von Staden fired at the captain, and forthwith had run
across the top of the house and peered over to discover what was
happening on the deck below. Discovering the captain in the act of
kicking a distinguished son of the Fatherland in that fragile section
of the human anatomy frequently referred to as the "slats," the second
mate had stood a moment, immobile with horror, the while he gazed upon
the fearful scene. Then the captain walked to a spot on the deck
directly beneath the position occupied by his subordinate, and stooped
to pick something up.

Even their enemies are proud of the dash and gallantry, the utter
contempt for consequences, which animate the German going into battle,
and Mr. Henckel, second mate of the S.S. _Narcissus_, was as fine a
German as one could find in a day's travel. The instant Michael J.
Murphy stooped to recover von Staden's automatic pistol, therefore,
Mr. Henckel saw his duty and, in the language of the elect, "he went
an' done it"--the which was absurdly simple. He merely leaped down off
the house on top of the captain, and forthwith deep peace and profound
silence brooded over the good ship _Narcissus_, of San Francisco.

It is worthy of remark here that Mr. Terence Reardon who, had he been
present, might have had something to say--not that his action would
indicate that he despised Mike Murphy the less, but that he loved his